


Breathe

by Jude81



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke steals the breath from Lexa's lungs.</p><p>This is from Lexa's point of view. There will be a companion piece from Clarke's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

You left her standing there. 

You ignored her soft entreaty, but you still made yourself stare into her wet blue eyes. 

You owed her that much.

You owed her. 

You kept your mask firmly in place and your voice didn’t tremble. 

But as you gazed at her, you wondered what the wet salt that spilled from her eyes would taste like against her pale skin. 

You would never know. 

You couldn’t afford to be Lexa, only Heda. You took precious moments to explain yourself as much as you were capable, but it was not enough. But it would be months before you would realize that. 

You wonder now if you should have seen this coming this, if you should have expected her to show up in your tent one night. You didn’t even question how she had gotten beyond your guards. 

You had heard the rumors of the Skaikila. 

Skaikila. 

Skaikila.

That’s what they called her. At first they had whispered of the Skai Prisa who brought the mountain to its knees, tearing it to the ground. They said she left the dead where they lay and sealed the door. No Trikru went anywhere near the Mountain. They said it was haunted. You had scoffed at them, but still even you stayed away. 

But soon the weeks passed and then the months, and you pretended at first not to hear the reports of a blonde who fell from the sky who lived in the Dead Zone. But as the whispers grew stronger, you could no longer ignore them. Your warriors huddled around their fires their eyes flickering rapidly, their feet shuffling. They whispered of tales of blood soaked sands and howling in the wind. They said she stalked along the edges of the trees, restlessly waiting. For something. For someone. They said the Skai Prisa was dead, had died in the mountain and a demon had taken root in her body. 

They called her Skaikila. 

Sky Killer. 

They feared her. 

And so you really should have seen this coming. 

You should have known that the day of reckoning would come. 

We all pay for our sins in the end. And your sins were more than for which you could atone.

You slipped out of the bed, strangely calm as you approached the wisp of a shadow. For that was what she was, a blonde shadow in tattered clothes. You couldn’t help but notice the scar on her chin and the braids in her hair. But her eyes.

Her eyes bore death.

You couldn’t help yourself, you breathed her name and it hung in the air between you, and her lips twitched slightly. Just a small muscle twitch as if it couldn’t decide to commit to a smile or to a frown. 

You knew you shouldn’t have stood so close, but she drew you in. The dark cold spot in your chest had only grown over the months. And when you raised your hand and laid it flat against her collarbone, she shifted closer to you, and you let your control slip. You gazed at her lips, remembering the feel of them the desire you had tasted. 

You are a fool, but you want it anyway. You want her anyway, and she is still and silent. Waiting. 

And you think now, that you should have known a kiss wasn’t just a kiss when you pushed your lips against hers. 

And she raised her arms and cradled you in them, and your eyes fluttered shut and you couldn’t help it. It was everything you had ever wanted, and she gave it to you. 

You are a fool. 

Because now…

Now she presses hard against you, her mouth sharp and heavy against yours. 

She takes your breath from you, ripping it from your lungs until you burn and shake. Your muscles clench in starvation, and she doesn’t stop. She never stops. Her tongue plunders your mouth owning you by simple right of possession. You’ve always been hers.

It’s only when you start to sag in her arms, your fists clutching weakly at her jacket that she breaks the seal of your mouths and you draw in an agonized gasp. You are light headed and floating, and the lights spark behind your eyes. You let her steal every last breath. You will gladly let her. Give it to her. 

And then her mouth presses harshly into your own again, but this time she pushes the air into your shrunken lungs. You feel them inflate, imagining them pushing against your rib cage. You can’t even whimper as you imagine your ribs cracking like falling leaves before the first breath of winter.

It’s too much, too much air, and now you are drowning in it. 

You shudder and flinch as her fingers clench brutally into your hips. There will be perfect bruises tomorrow in the shape of her fingers. You find yourself looking forward to seeing them, feeling the pain blossom across your skin. She has burned you, marked you, branded you. You hope they never fade. Because the bruises say she was here. Clarke was here, and she took her pound of flesh. 

But now you are drowning, and your instincts kick in and you push at her chest but it is useless. She tore apart a mountain, and now she won’t be moved. She has caged you in her arms, right where you always wanted to be, but her hardened flesh presses into you and there is no comfort here. And you are glad for it. 

But you wonder what it would be like to let go. To just be. 

You crave this mindless dance of power, because this was always inevitable, this fierce combat of straining, grasping flesh. You always took from each other and only ever gave back pain. You scrubbed each other raw, and you wonder why it hurts? But you will always come back for more, you will take what she will give, and give more than she will take. 

You crave her bloody benediction. 

And right when you are on the edge, finally ready to let go; she lets go. 

You lurch forward, stumbling into her chest. You sink into her but she doesn’t bother to raise her arms again. You can feel the thump of her heart, the incoherent rhythm; and your own heart ricochets against itself, caving in and in and in. 

You are so sure it would rupture under the strain, but it’s already broken. You like to think the mountain broke your heart, but you damn well know it was all your own doing. The back of sacrifice, but it was your back and her back; and you are so weighed down; you don’t think you can ever stand tall again. 

So you rest your cheek briefly against her chest trying to breathe in, but you only cough, searing choking that gurgles deep within. You concentrate on the soft swell of her breasts beneath the ragged jacket, and you can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to touch her. To run your cheek across her smooth skin, to paint kisses along her ribs while she clutched you tightly to her. 

You raise your eyes to meet her cold blue ones. You’ve never seen them so dark, so sharp. You don’t recognize this color blue. It disturbs you, for blue has always been the color of birds, and water, and the indigo moon, and Clarke. But now her eyes look more like an animal, a predator. 

You wonder why you are surprised when you feel the warm steel pierce you side, slipping between your ribs. 

She holds your gaze. 

You idly wonder how long she had planned this. When she was still the Skai Prisa? When she plagued the Dead Zone and earned her name: Skaikila?

The blade was warm. 

You smile a little. It had been warmed by her skin, nestled against her living, aching and breathing flesh. And maybe that was all that mattered. She had survived. 

You think now that you always knew. She had come for vengeance. Or maybe it was justice. Either way, she gave you absolution. 

You sigh when you feel her arm come up around your waist and pull you to her, cradling you. And for a moment you are warm and the cold hollow in your chest finally starts to fill. You are warm. You are safe. You are free. 

You smile when you feel the tender press of her lips against your neck. 

She pulls you tighter, and your flesh splits harder around her blade. 

She looks at you again and her eyes aren’t so cold anymore, just resigned. But you see the flicker of relief when your blood spills over her hand. 

You cough, too tired to bother to cover your mouth. She doesn’t flinch when the flecks of blood hit her face. 

You think she looks pretty with a thousand burning red stars painted across a pale horizon. 

You open your mouth to tell her. You want to tell her you are sorry, that it is ok. 

It is ok now

You want to tell her she is beautiful like this. But nothing comes out of your mouth but a deep sigh, and your eyes sting with salt as they flutter one last time. 

And you think…

You think…

Her blue eyes look like the sky. 

A wet blue sky. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Um...yeah, so this happened. I should probably apologize.


End file.
